Dream
by blackrook210
Summary: As Takako Chigusa and the rest of class 3-B were embroiled within the machinations of The Program, they each entered with their own goals and dreams. What were they, and what will happen in this revisionist re-imagining of The Program?
1. Introduction

AN: I've returned to my old story to give it a facelift after years of neglect. I tried to adopt canon from the novel and manga, although diction and characterization is decidedly focused closer to the manga. Let me know if it's any good at all; reviews and comments are very much appreciated.

"Boy number seven! Kuninob – sorry, nevermind that…!"

Takako Chigusa maintained her trademark stony exterior, struggling to conceal the turbulence in her mind. _What the fuck was Fumiyo playing at? You don't interrupt your instructor in class – especially if he's holding a knife. And Yoshitoki, that smiley cheerful kid, chose quite possibly the worst possible time to grow a sack. Same for Shuuya and Shinji. Idiots, all of them. _How Shuuya and Shinji escaped joining Yoshitoki and Fumiyo as early casualties of The Program defied her logic. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but quietly respect their brazen courage in stepping up; but guts need brains to back them up, and now the brains of boy number seven oozed out of the bloody hulk that once had been a face.

Perhaps the news of Class 3-B's sacrifice in The Program should not have come as a great surprise to anyone. After all, the Republic of Greater East Asia deeply integrated the policy and its reasons for existence into numerous aspects of the nation's education and culture. Belying that fact, a requirement for graduating elementary school mandated that all students recite the purpose of The Program in front of the provincial education oversight committee.

One of the core subjects in the standardized first year curriculum was centered on The Program; state-owned media outlets broadcasted stories about The Program, especially when in progress. Commentaries, analysis, and speculation concerning the hapless students supplanted matters of foreign and domestic policy. More perceptive citizens believed, not unreasonably, that that was by design. Every May, jaded students simply accepted The Program as a fact of life in the Republic.

But facing the remote possibility of being selected for the Program and actually being selected for the Program were very different things. And as the seriousness of the situation began to dawn on every student in Class 3-B with the unexpected passing of two of the class's own, an uncomfortable silence spawned from collective terror and grief took hold in the classroom.

Mayumi Tendo, her tears ebbing down her cheeks and dripping onto the surface of her paper upon which she had written nothing, convulsed uncontrollably in the seat next to Takako's. Mayumi's single tightly-woven pigtail bobbed and her sobs redoubled in strength, as she had just connected again with Fumiyo's unseeing eyes.

_Get it together_, thought Takako, too doggedly stubborn to surrender to despair. In addition to her reserved and confident personality that her classmates perceived as aloof and haughty, she at heart tended toward defiance. Far be it from her to concede defeat in anything.

But then she followed Mayumi's gaze to Fumiyo's dilated irises – just minutes ago, those same eyes looked down with morbid incomprehension at Yoshitoki. Now, glazing over, they framed a thin and bloody trail that seeped from the knife embedded in her forehead.

Fumiyo worked as the nurse's assistant during happier times. The previous fall, Takako lost her footing on a loose patch of gravel while at a dead sprint and scraped her knee on the resulting fall. Those deep wounds would remain forever scarred into her skin until her death, but that thought was secondary to the searing pain that left her unable to move under her own power. Hobbling into the school clinic with her old friend Kahoru at her side and muttering curses, she was thereafter attended to by Fumiyo, who while applying disinfectant to her injuries _would not fucking stop humming the most annoyingly catchy songs! Like, I was just sitting there in agony while she's still all sunshine and butterflies._

Snapping back in the present, Takako could stare no longer as every thought she had once entertained of Fumiyo, even the most trivial, flooded back into her memory at once. That Fumiyo incessantly clicked her mechanical pencil against her temple whenever she became stressed about an assignment. That she never cursed, at least so far as Takako could tell. That she winded the strands of her hair around her finger whenever she found something boring, and then spent an amusingly long time untangling the knots upon realizing what she had done. _She had her own flaws and quirks. Her own aspirations and dreams. But most importantly, she was an irreplaceable human soul with her own understanding of what it meant to live. Until now._

Takako grasped the desk legs with her hands and gripped tightly to prevent from losing herself to the overpowering gravity of all that had occurred. Clenching her eyes shut as hard as possible, her eyelids tingled with fatigue. Her will _would not _break as quickly as Mayumi's. _I will not break._ _The Battle Royale Act was instated in 1947 as a national initiative __to remind the citizens of the Republic that sacrifice for the greater good of the nation is the greatest virtue of all, and unquestioning discipline to the supreme authority of the government is expected from every man, woman, and child. Right. No country that embraces senseless slaughter of its own citizens is worth defending. My story will not end now, it won't end tomorrow, and it sure as hell won't end because of this game. It won't._

"Boy number eleven! Sugimura!"

Takako snapped out of her intense meditation and gravely watched her closest friend stand and shoulder his bag. Hiroki Sugimura collected his provisions, sent her a furtive, anxious look, and exited the room. The only person in Class 3-B who had the great privilege of her unwavering trust, he had known her since their childhood days. She saw in him a caring soul of the highest moral character, who constantly preached self-betterment. Though she embraced her own independent nature, his years of training in the martial arts nevertheless provided an appreciated layer of security.

But most importantly, he had become the only person who had become intimately attuned to her every thought and need (except for her feelings for him, but that was arguably an ambiguous topic for them both). Therefore, she was shaken that she couldn't discern what his abstract glance meant. Preoccupied with her own emotions, she had completely forgotten about him until the instructor called his name. _Had he been trying to communicate with me all this time? Was he looking at me or at Shuuya?_

"Girl number eleven, Mitsuko Souma! Boy, her looks can kill! Get it? Get it? Understand?"

"Y-yes…?" Chisato's uncertain voice rang out alone.

"Ah, excellent, Matsui. You students are becoming so bright nowadays! Almost makes me regret what has to happen. Not that it would mean anything if I did. I have absolutely no hand in the result of this year's exercise. More pure that way, wouldn't you agree?"

No one ventured an answer this time.

Takako once again retreated to the inner recesses of her mind, quickly reflecting on her relationship with Hiroki._ We met when we went to rival elementary schools. Got him to stop crying over some cheap comic books. Told him to toughen up. Didn't see him much until Shiroiwa, but he matured well during that time. Haven't seen him cry since I met him, except for when his grandfather died. He can get a pass for that._

"Yutaka Seto, boy number twelve. Now, now…this is no time to be breaking down!"

_He never exactly became confident, but you know he can take care of himself. We talked for a while first day of first year, hanged out with him regularly after that pretty much every single day. Got lucky to be placed in the same class last year. Been even closer ever since. Kind of replaced Kahoru last year in a sense…always felt bad about that. They really couldn't be more different. Kahoru and I, we'd always agree to catch up and meet lunch. But we never follow through. It's almost a formality at this point..._

"Oh my, girl number twelve might have trouble hiding anywhere on this island. Haruka Tanizawa!"

_There's no one else in class I trust more than him. He won't play; of that there can be no doubt. But will he be interested in looking for me? He has other friends he might try to team up with. Shuuya. He might have been looking at him instead of me when he left, actually. There's Shinji too. No shortage of balls in that group, but given their stunts so far they need someone with half a brain who can settle them down with logic and restraint. Like Sugi._

"And the _otaku_. Boy thirteen, Takiguchi. Why are all the male students so nervous? Be strong for the women! Set an example."

_But would he wait outside for me? We're good friends now, to be sure. Does he consider me important enough to risk his life with so many others coming out after him? Especially Mitsuko? He's always been as independent as me…it seems impossible that he would ever need anyone to survive, let alone a spunky girl with some pretty gnarly brace-_

"Ah, this is more like it! The bodacious and beautiful Chigusa, girl number thirteen!"


	2. Confrontation

_Prick._ Takako had designs of charging forward, but a reminder of Yoshitoki and Fumiyo's fates quickly dulled her instincts. She lifted herself up and nonchalantly collected her bag along with her inner thoughts. She felt proud of her restraint. _Courage is blind without self-control. That's what Sugi would say._ Upon leaving the room, she let out a sigh of relief that dispelled the tension that had been building in the pit of her stomach for the better part of an hour.

Then she took inventory of what stretched before her: a dark hallway leading out into a deserted field. _Where is everyone? Are people actually playing? Anyone who's playing could easily stay behind, watch the doors, and pick off unsuspecting targets. Like me._ These thoughts festering in her subconscious, she barely perceived herself putting one foot before the other until the salty, insular wind brushed past her uniform in the frame of the double doors.

_Well, shit. No one's here._

The athletic field sprawled before the front of the school black, empty, and completely exposed. _Loitering here could be a fatal mistake…if people are playing. Would anyone really play? _A growing paranoia summoned adrenaline into her system; fight or flight instincts overtaking her instincts, she slung her day pack onto her shoulder. She examined the woods to the front and the hill to the left. Eyeing the spots with an encroaching suspicion of the unknown, she heard clattering from the shingles on the roof above!

Provoked by the sudden noise, she yelped and immediately jumped down the porch steps in one stride, swerved right next to the school's wall, and let her legs do the rest of the work across the open clearing. A sound, organic but distorted by distance, closed in from behind; but she thought only of finding a safer place to gather her wits. _Just get to cover. You don't know who might still be here, so it's not smart to stop for anything. Even if it might be Sugi._

Entering a cluster of houses adjacent to the school grounds, she recognized the piercing register of a crossbow being fired from the campus. At least she swore the noise _resembled_ that of a crossbow. _But would anyone really play to win? Already? _The very concept seemed alien to her ideals. Whatever created the sound, she settled on the most concrete thought possible. _I made a rational decision to leave the school grounds so quickly. __I'll be damned if I bite the dust from a crossbow this early, that's just pathetic._

Unbeknownst to Takako as she made her slapdash escape from her imagined threat was the nearby presence of Kazuo Kiriyama, who took a short respite to examine the contents of his pack. An owner's manual accompanied an Ingram MAC-10 machine pistol. And as he typically derived a sensation that could approach enjoyment (although never entirely reach it) from absorbing new reading material, he began to breathlessly flip through the pages. After a couple minutes, he had already fully learned how to operate the weapon when he discerned company fast approaching.

Sweeping aside a heavy bough, Takako burst into the clearing and froze in her tracks at the sight of Kazuo. Their eyes connected; one betrayed a guarded carefulness, and the other betrayed nothing. In one smooth motion he switched the safety and extended his right arm, drawing a bead on her chest with the machine pistol's iron sights. She could only process what was happening at an elementary level. _So this is what it feels like to be held at gunpoint. I've only heard stories__. Can't bite the bullet with my hair like this, right? _Deliberately lowering her duffel bag to the ground, Takako teased away the twisted twigs that had embedded themselves into her hair before slowly raising up her hands. The action almost stood as an act of defiance.

Takako's position was utterly compromised, and Kazuo's arms continued to hold the firearm with supreme steadiness and confidence. _This guy was always a wildcard. He'd actually be one of the most interesting guys in class if he wasn't completely apathetic about everything. I don't think his gang realizes what goes on in his head. Maybe he himself isn't sure what goes on in his head. _Owing to his emotionless persona and her mind furiously combing over her past impressions of him during more peaceful times, silence pervaded the clearing save for the ambiance of the forest.

It took the greatest amount of self-control for Takako to initiate the conversation with Kazuo's soulless eyes boring through every molecule of her existence. Classmates in Class 3-B usually typically addressed each other with their respective given names, but for those not very close family names were deemed more appropriate.

No student in Class 3-B save for his gang considered Kazuo close.

"What do you want, Kiriyama?"

Kazuo stood motionless, emotionless.

_Man of few words indeed. He clearly wants something. Everybody wants something._ Takako persisted. "What. Do. You. Want?"

Kazuo tilted his head at last, and to her immense relief he also lowered his weapon. "I haven't decided," he replied flatly, his eyes still fixated on hers. His voice was stark in its refinement and unnaturally neutral inflection. When the students of class 3-B tried getting to know him at the beginning of their second year, they quickly discovered that talking to him was almost never pleasant, and in fact more often induced spine-chilling discomfort from the inhuman inflection of his words.

After a moment's hesitation, Takako reached down to grab her bag in a gamble to cleanly excuse herself from the conversation early. "If that's the case, then I'm gonna go. Bye."

However, Kazuo appeared completely unfazed and countered with a curveball of his own. "Chigusa. I am going to tell you something no one else on the island will hear."

Takako flinched at the unexpected response, and turned her head with what would have been a grinning scowl had this been any regular student. Instead, begrudged curiosity marked the sharp features of her face. Being a man who kept to himself and his crowd at school, Kazuo rarely spoke directly to her. He attacked every task with brutal efficiency and always finished with effortless perfection. He, along with Satomi, Kyoichi, and Takako herself, was traditionally considered one of the model students in class. _And yet he runs a gang?_ She would never admit it to herself or to him, but the enigma of Kazuo Kiriyama had piqued her interest.

"Say it, then."

"It is quite an interesting dynamic that The Program creates. Early on each student selects whether they play to the system or rebel against it. I have not yet selected." Kazuo's eyes inched downward as he spoke, as if finally exerting energy to think.

"Well I hope for everyone's sake that you don't play," Takako replied immediately as she shuddered at Kazuo's indecision._ Does he have any moral code? There aren't any gangs in Kahoru's class…__lucky her._

Kazuo didn't acknowledge her remark, and appeared to straighten his hair with his free hand while applying pressure to his temple. His other hand still held the firearm. "Sometimes it is difficult for me to distinguish the separation between good and bad. I am beginning to think that it is no matter to me here."

In astonishment, Takako edged backward as the context of Kazuo's sentence suggested a morbid finality; there was no way for her to predict whether she would be spared or whether those would be the last words she heard.


	3. Retrospection

The most significant memory Takako had of Kazuo occurred in early April, the beginning of the term, in gym class. Class 3-B had been retained from the previous year completely intact and the routine of their previous term carried through to the new term. Fridays were free days; students could do whatever they pleased so long as the activities were kept within the court. To half of the students, this meant homework. To a quarter of them, this meant naps. The rest were content to preoccupy themselves with legitimate physical activity, which mostly consisted of basketball whenever the weather proved too inclement for baseball.

To Takako, Fridays in gym class meant laps around the court to work on endurance; when the weather warmed up over fifteen degrees she would ask permission to take her exercise to the outside track, which the coach always approved. This usually didn't occur until later in the month. Stretching away the stresses of the morning classes, she observed Hiroki staring at her. She shook her head, smiling to herself. _Not even subtle. _After their eyes met he shot her a subdued thumbs-up and returned a faint smile.

Her's faded. _Gentle. Everything he does is gentle – martial arts excepting of course. It's so frustrating sometimes._

Lowering her head to speed up her pace into a sprint, she also pondered why Hiroki had stopped playing basketball. Every Friday, Shuuya and Shinji would entreat him to join them on the court. "We'll go easy on ya", they claimed. "You can play with Yutaka and Nobu, it'll even be a three versus two." But Hiroki never needed much convincing at all, agreeing week by week to play only to be summarily trounced by the two athletic wunderkinds. _He might be a martial arts stud, but he's honestly terrible at basketball. Worst on the team by far. But he doesn't much care about competition so long as he can spend time with his friends. So why did he quit?_

The length of the indoor laps paled in comparison to that of the track. Takako quickly tallied twenty, her mind passing through other trivial matters before returning to Hiroki. He focused his attention intently on his notebook, writing continuously. She couldn't pinpoint when exactly it began, but he had recently begun writing a collection of texts. Uninterested in the 'eloquent and eclectic' (he always described it with these words) nature of Chinese poetry, she elected not to press him about the issue.

Still, she found his nascent fascination with writing somewhat charming. _I've never seen him this focused on anything other than his training. Sometimes his writing sessions seem pretty intense. Of course, he'll ask me to read them when he finishes, and of course I will agree. But if it's anything other than an eclectic compilation of eloquent Chinese poems, I will run all the way to Takamatsu and back._

On the basketball court, Shinji and Yutaka teamed up against Shuuya and Yoshitoki in a two-on-two game. Shinji, face wrinkled with concentration operating in a pick-and-roll set with Yutaka, leaned to the right and dribbled to his left. Yutaka ran forward to set a screen on a flailing Yoshitoki, allowing Shinji to drive past him toward the basket. Shuuya, expecting a layup attempt, could only watch helplessly as Shinji stopped on a dime, elevating his legs and following through with a ten-foot shot that exited pure, splashing through the net.

The little game drew a respectable audience. Yumiko and Yukiko, located around midcourt, cheered raucously for the two orphans to take the game. Yumiko bent down to listen to Yukiko's comments (always whispered for her ears only) before breaking into her distinctive low-pitched giggle. Weekly spectators, nearly everyone in the class could identify them immediately based on their inseparable bond and stark height difference.

Several members of Yukie's group, including Haruka, Izumi, Mayumi, Yuka, and Chisato, watched as "impartial observers" but more accurately did not care at all who won as long as Shinji performed more of his signature moves. The _oohs_, _aahs_, and claps following the more impressive plays normally originated from this group.

Tatsumichi, Tadakatsu, and Kazushi casually worked out in the adjacent weight room, casually glancing out the window for entertainment in between sets of leg workouts. The gym lacked the facilities for indoor baseball, soccer, or handball; as a result, the three took their freedom every Friday to the weight room and developed a steady friendship during second year.

This Friday, however, there was a particularly unusual spectator. Kazuo Kiriyama stood straight behind the basket, emotionless as always. His hands held a sizeable book he was on the cusp of finishing. By now, all of Class 3-B recognized that he rarely operated on a routine, and Fridays were no exception. His gang sat in the bleachers, paying (with the exception of Sho) more attention to the girls watching the game than the game itself.

Kazuo typically sat beside his clique, reading a variation of texts that seemed to lack rhyme and reason. The previous week, he flipped through pages containing expert techniques in folding origami. The week before that, he examined the Republic's state-mandated history textbook from end-to-end. The week before that, he carried a translation of _Leviathan_ from the philosopher Thomas Hobbes (the treatise was one of few foreign philosophical writings not considered contraband by the Republic of Greater East Asia, albeit extensively censored). No one in the class could see precisely which topic he was currently perusing.

After finishing fifty laps, Takako found a spot on the bleachers in the first row and recovered her thumping heart while taking in the game. The winning score set at ten, Shinji's team held a commanding lead at nine to six. According to Shinji's count.

"Hey, that can't be right!" Shuuya protested, face dripping with sweat. "I scored at least five times on you two. And Nobu had that one sick lay-in over Yutaka. Also don't forget his long ball. We gotta be tied at least." He raised his left hand back at Yoshitoki, who knelt hunched over on the edge of exhaustion. Yoshitoki lunged at Shuuya's high five and missed before his body keeled over and settled onto the ground.

"What's rule number one of pick up ball? Oh, right. _Trust_ the scorekeeper or do the job yourself," Shinji quipped. His eyes still shone of competitive spirit. "Don't worry; this game should be over any second now. Right, Yutaka?" He turned to where Yutaka should have been standing, but instead Yutaka had followed Yoshitoki's example and sprawled supine on the basketball court.

"I think I'm done, Mim," Yutaka panted. His chest pumping up and down, he covered his eyes from the blinding glare of the ceiling light fixtures. "I wouldn't be surprised if I gave up nine points by myself. Shuuya, you owe me hospital bills for how bad you broke my ankles that last play. Call it even, guys?"

"Hey, that's straight up betrayal. Knife in my back, Yutaka." Shinji's face reddened for a moment at the idea of leaving the game a tie.

Shuuya looked down at Yoshitoki, who lied flat on his back with a dopey expression that signaled the onset of endorphin-induced euphoria. Yoshitoki was done. "Yeah, I think at this point it would be a one-on-one. And we all know how that would go, wouldn't we?" Shuuya jabbed.

"Yeah, you always stick your fat ass out in the post and push me outta the way. Or take the ball to me hard and finish shots in my face. Even with me being draped all over you," Shinji smirked as he retrieved the basketball. "I'm really getting tired of that act."

"I know you admire my good looks and all, but _control yourself_. We're in public here. Also don't forget that you foul me pretty much every single drive." Shuuya wiped sweat off his forehead. "So…I guess we're done, unless someone else wants to play."

Kazuo snapped his book shut and placed it inside his bag. The crowd on the sidelines turned their attention to him.

"May I join?"

Written on the binding of the book Kazuo had just finished, gleaming and embossed letters formed the title: _Fundamental Principles and Strategies for Playing and Winning at Basketball: Basic, Intermediate, and Advanced Techniques_.


	4. Domination

All who heard Kazuo's question hesitated for a second before resuming what they had been doing, as if he had said nothing at all. Takako raised her head in skepticism. _Surely Kazuo Kiriyama was above basketball?_ But as Mitsuru, Ryuhei, Hiroshi, and Sho had long known, nothing could be considered either above or below the tastes of their capricious boss.

"You asked whether anyone else wanted to play basketball. I will," Kazuo restated to everybody's surprise.

"Uhh…do you know how to play, Kiriyama?" Shuuya asked, mentally incapable of turning down a challenge.

"Yes. I just learned."

"Alrighty, do you want to change outta your uniform?"

"No."

Mitsuru called out from the stands, happy for a break from the monotony. "Hey, boss, we'll make it an even match."

Kazuo stared back with an unreadable expression. "If you say so."

Mitsuru, Ryuhei, and Hiroshi bounded down the bleachers, thumping loudly with each step. The class' duly undivided attention drawn, the group sprinted across the court into the men's locker room. Sho, lagging behind for a moment, followed them inside walking along the sidelines.

Simultaneously, Tadakatsu, Kazushi, and Tatsumichi emerged from the weight room. The spectacle attracting their interest, they insisted on playing as well. "Count us in too. Those last games were boring as fuck, but there's no way we're just sitting out on this one with crazy Kiriyama playing," Kazushi explained. The three joined Shuuya and Shinji, who both appeared overwhelmed with the interest but excited with the new competition.

_Warning, we have an excess of manliness breaking out in the gym._ Takako sighed.

Kazuo's gang emerged before long in basketball shorts and tanks. By now, the game had engrossed all of Class 3-B's attention. Even Hiroki stopped writing to observe. The teams already set in stone (no one considered, let alone brought up, shooting for captain), Shinji handed Kazuo the basketball. "I'll let you have the honors."

"I thought there was a jump for the ball at the beginning of the game."

"Nah, that's for officiated games. We're just playing around here, right?"

"I see." Kazuo took a shot right from where he stood, which was several meters past the three-point line. The ball sailed high before hitting nothing but the wall on the way back down. It was an airball.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Kazushi burst out into conniptions that echoed throughout the gym. Shuuya, showing hints of apprehension on his face for the past several minutes, let out a breath and seemed more relieved. Kazuo was human after all. Takako's eyes widened. _I kinda expected him to swish that shot._

Kazuo, if he felt any inkling of embarrassment, didn't display it. Instead, he trotted over to the ball, examining its properties and dribbling it around for a few seconds before returning it to Tadakatsu.

Thus, the game began in earnest. Tadakatsu held the ball and checked it in to Hiroshi. Trotting diagonally to the basket, Tadakatsu bounced the ball to Shuuya in the post against Mitsuru, who begrudgingly backed down against Shuuya's surprising strength. In a flash, Shinji cut free from Sho on a screen by Tatsumichi, received Shuuya's dish, and extended his arm up toward the rim only to see a rising Kazuo challenge him at the basket and deflect the ball out to Ryuhei on the wing – but not before the ball had already banked off the backboard.

"Goaltend!" Shinji called out, relishing in Kazuo's second gaffe.

But in what seemed like a move of calculated vengeance, Kazuo quickly gathered the inbounds pass from Mitsuru and sped down the length of the court with breakneck speed, beating everyone to the basket and laying it in easily.

Kazushi slapped the ball on the sideline, trying to find an open player to inbound the ball. After several seconds of indecision, he recalled his soccer intuition and simply kicked the ball as far as he could in Shuuya's general direction. Shuuya was one of the more athletic students at Shiroiwa, but upon the leap to take hold of the errant ball his fingers were beaten to the punch by Kazuo's outstretched hand; Kazuo directed the ball to Ryuhei. Sprinting full speed on the fast break opportunity for the other basket, Kazuo collected the ball back, head faked right, and drove left away from Kazushi's body. Seeing Tatsumichi retreat back to the rim and lunge out for the ball, Kazuo spun away from his grasp and finger rolled the ball into the hoop.

Clearly, Kazuo's school uniform did not inhibit movement.

Roving around the court on defense, Kazuo singlehandedly foiled all attempts by the other team to score through spectacular steals, blocks, or forced misses. On the other end, he demonstrated expert footwork and ball handling that shamed even Shuuya and Shinji, who could not stop any of Kazuo's explosive drives, methodical post moves, or sharpshooting jumpers. Occasionally, as if he just wanted to see what would happen, Kazuo drove to collapse the defense and passed the ball to open members of his team. But after discovering that none of them could capitalize on the scoring opportunity, he quickly resumed to taking it in himself.

Kazuo posted Shuuya down at the freethrow line. He spun right, kicked his right leg out, and faded away. The shot dropped cleanly through the net for the tenth point of the game, which had lasted barely several minutes.

The students in Class 3-B murmured to each other in disbelief. Kazushi, Tadakatsu, and Tatsumichi hunched over, hands on their hips. Their brief foray into basketball a complete catastrophe, they swiftly left without a word in embarrassed dejection for the locker room. Shuuya sat on the floor, utterly shellshocked. Shinji, the only player with the presence of mind to talk, told Kazuo, "Wow, man, you kind of destroyed us. You could easily play in America at their collegiate level, I'll bet. I've seen clips from the NBA several times, and…you're right up there with the skillset."

"I will keep that in mind when I am in America," Kazuo responded. Shinji paled slightly at the connotation of the sentence; barely anyone from the Republic had the means and opportunity to venture abroad. When they did, they remained. Takako could interpret the reply as anything from a sarcastic rebuke to a lighthearted joke. But with Kazuo, you simply never knew.

"Heh, for sure," Shinji could only say sheepishly.

Kazuo launched a laser-fast chest pass toward Shinji. "I do not think I will play again. If you keep up with the news, then you know that government is deciding on whether to ban the sport from schools due to its distinct pedigree and current popularity in America."

"I know. I'm dead-set against it." Shinji spat, his face immediately forming a grimace.

Kazuo stared through Shinji toward the rest of the class. "It might be time you to return to baseball. I understand you played second base not too long ago, and that you were above average in fielding. Either way you go about it, the odds are not in basketball's favor. You are probably aware of the Republic's history concerning things with American heritage." His cold eyes fell on Takako, who seized from the direct eye contact.

The electronic chime reverberated throughout the gym, signaling the end of the period. Kazuo swiped a towel from Mitsuru's outstretched hand and wiped off his sweat before grabbing his bag to depart, leaving Shinji sulking, Shuuya mute, and Takako concerned.


	5. Separation

Back in the present, no grand finale would prematurely end Takako's story, as Kazuo took his stare off of her and holstered his weapon. Furling up the owner's manual and setting it inside the bag, he continued. "Good. Bad. How does a regular person discriminate between the two? We are all products of our environments. We play the hand we are dealt. Everyone renders judgment in accordance with their instilled values. But how can you separate what is good and what is bad, if there is _no_ underlying foundation of values? Does a universal understanding of what separates them exist? Should it?"

Unsettled, Takako mustered as reasonable a counter as she could, "People grow up with a standard of values. To not have one, you might as well be a machine without a basis to discern right from wrong."

"A machine. Apt comparison. I find I tend to pick things up quickly. Sports. Academics. Arts. Instructions are everywhere. You read, you process, and then you execute. People complain about how difficult it is to do certain things. But that is the easiest part, so long as you can follow directions. What is that ad for that American shoe company? _Just do it? _The ultimate question is not _how_. It is _what_. So…_what?_ Should I fight the Program or the class?"

Takako burst out in exasperation. "The Program! What kind of question is that?"

"It's the only relevant question." Kazuo squinted at her while canting his head. "I have the unquestionable capability and expectation of fulfilling each option presented me to the fullest extent of success. The Program, the class, what's the difference?

"Well, it seems to me that trying to dismantle Shiroiwa's Program is straightforward in concept but difficult in execution. Remove the head from the snake, and the body ceases to move - destroy the command center. Probably with a fertilizer-based explosive, as I already passed a garage with a canister of it untouched.

"On the other hand, what would you do if I brought my gun back out and pointed it at you? Obviously you have no concept of how a MAC-10 works given from your stunned and fearful expression just five minutes before, even when you had a clear view of me switching the firearm's safety to the on position rather than off like you seemed to believe."

Kazuo brought the weapon back up and switched the fire mode once more. Takako's breathing quickened as she gaped at the inscrutable man before her.

"Shiroiwa is a complicated environment. Every student that attends the school enters the same front door with a different goal in mind. Their – let's call them dreams – give them motive for those goals. How about an example?

"Motobuchi arrives at the school ostensibly to be a diligent and learned student. But _why?_ Because he strives to advance his future? Maybe, but why does he need it? His station granted him from his father in the government suggests that his future is secure. And if he is so invested in academic pursuit, why does he show so little interest about topics that aren't tested? Why does no one ever observe him reading for self-education and improvement?

"No…it's solely about the one benefit that scoring well on tests grants him – the grades. The same grades which he lords over everyone in Class 3-B in order to re-establish his deflated sense of self-worth which stems from his estranged relationship from his absent father who only reached his level of involvement with the government by achieving even more superior marks when he was in high school himself."

It was a convincing explanation that Takako couldn't help but agree with.

"Let's compare that to fighting The Program. The Republic would, obviously, react poorly to any potential instance of sabotage here on my part. They would detonate the electronic collars, quarantine the island, mobilize rapid response security teams, and eliminate any survivors they encounter. Even I don't entertain much hope of surviving that kind of onslaught. No more late night entertainment, the incident is covered up without any ceremony, and the process begins anew the following year."

"But what would such a person like Motobuchi do when faced with the prospect of imminent death? The prospect of simply not existing? The prospect of having failed to accomplish your dreams? At the school, we saw him grovel for his life and lean on his father's status in an ill-advised attempt to save himself. I had thought that he had developed an independence from his father's occupation and would be too proud to leverage it as a bargaining chip.

"But I was mistaken. His actions clarified my deduction of him, and understanding where I had been right and where I had been wrong is extremely…intriguing. You see, the complexity of government bureaucracy pales in comparison to the inner workings of a human being. In fact, it is a shame that I am not there for the death of every classmate. So much more would be revealed to me. And how can I ensure that I be there for the death of as many classmates as possible?

"By partaking in the game."

Takako could not fathom his cold objectivity. "Do you not care for the well being of other people? The value of life? What about your dreams? Think about the injustice if someone came and snuffed them out without you having a say in the matter."

"I have no dreams," Kazuo said flatly, his eyes boring into Takako's grim and speechless expression.

Takako could only respond with silence.

"You never seemed particularly close with anyone in class other than Sugimura."

_What does that have anything to do with…anything? Kazuo has never taken any interest in my personal life, so why now? _Takako cocked her head in bemusement. "And…?"

"And you seem to have decided not to play. I thought the opposite would hold true."

_He thinks I'm a murderer because I don't talk to classmates?! _Takako could hardly believe what she had just heard, and yet she calmed her tone in light of who she was addressing. "Any normal person would refuse to play." She balked at her own words. _Did I just indirectly insult him anyway? Why do I always provoke people?_

"I explained to you my views on my dilemma. But I must emphatically disagree with your assertion that 'any normal person would refuse to play'. I actually have been reading about something similar these past few days from an economics textbook.

"Consider a typical classmate of ours, in this game here. Say that it is you. From your perspective, as a human being, your primary motive is self-preservation. Your decision hinges on whether it will give you the greatest chance to stay alive. And of course, the rational decision in isolation is to refuse to play the game; to not kill others. However, you also realize that every other classmate is choosing their own strategy. Your decision is not made in a vacuum. You must make your decision taking into account _the decisions of your classmates_, which are unknown.

"For example, you do not know whether _I _will play. Every classmate potentially threatens you with a non-rational decision, which tends to foster more non-rational decisions. Often, rational people on the whole do not engender rational results. That is why the initiative has seen such success. That is why I thought that you, not having a meaningful relationship with anyone in the class outside of Hiroki Sugimura, would be one of the first to begin playing having such an apparently low opinion of your classmates.

"I see that my deductive powers are lacking a bit. Maybe I'll study on improving that next."

Takako followed the logic. Kazuo's conclusion seemed airtight. _But I have to say something against it, damn it! _"You're dead wrong about me. And about the class. I understand the rationale. I understand the logic. But you're saying that you can just "learn" what human nature is like you can with economic theories, and I think there's more to us than that. You've already been wrong about us in your deductions."

"Or maybe human nature is what I will study next." Kazuo glanced downward before nodding to confirm his decision. "Think about what you are suggesting. Even if the highly improbable comes about and every single person means to cooperate, the collars will detonate after a day. With that factor included, playing the game is even more understandable. Simply because it is what rational minds would decide as a collective group does not mean that the result is Pareto optimal. The Nash equilibrium for The Program results in all classmates dead except for one."

_Pareto optimal? Nash equilibrium? _Takako offered no response. _I am talking to someone on the edge of ingenuity and insanity. _She furrowed her eyebrows in consideration of what Kazuo explained. "Call me irrational, whatever…but I don't think peoples' actions are so easily determined."

"That is where I disagree again, at least in this situation. The Nash equilibrium has ensued, without deviance, in all iterations of The Program across all prefectures of the Republic since its introduction in 1947. Barring any unexpected changes in the parameters of the game, the same will happen to Class 3-B."

Kazuo placed his right hand behind his temple once again and swooped up his belongings. "I take my leave. If I do not get the opportunity to speak to you again, then take care, Takako Chigusa." He swiftly proceeded into the enclosure of trees without another word or sign.


End file.
